


Unwind

by levigate



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: No Sex, he gets a massage, its a massage guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 06:39:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4381133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levigate/pseuds/levigate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though he created it, sometimes Ruben doesn’t understand his Keeper. Every time he thought he did, it would do something else odd.  He isn't certain what to expect when it approaches as just a writhing mass of tentacles. How did it even get out of the safe? </p><p>For its part, the Keeper just wants Ruben to relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwind

Even though he created it, sometimes Ruben doesn’t understand his Keeper. Every time he thought he did, it would do something else odd.

“Are you forgetting something?” he asks the mass of red tentacles at his feet. There’s a trail of thick crimson slime leading out of the room, and he has no doubt at the end of that trail is a safe. Why it would chose to come in search of him in such a way was puzzling. It was vulnerable like this, its soft flesh out where anyone could harm it, without the protective metal casing. The tentacles writhe, a few of them bending upwards in the middle before collapsing. He gets the distinct impression that it just shrugged at him. He nudges it with a toe. “I think you are.”

While the form isn’t expected, he isn’t surprised when it latches on, coils wrapping around his foot and pulling on his toes. He smirks and puts his full weight down.The Keeper is soft and spongy, and overall wet. His foot sinks down into the warm flesh with a sort of squelch. Ruben smiles. The Keeper flails in pain, pushes back as it struggles to free itself.

“Tell me, Keeper. Regretting coming so unprotected?” He’s not expecting an answer. He’s used to talking to himself, years of isolation have made him fond of the sound of his own voice. He presses down with the ball and then heel of his foot, little twists that grind the Keeper into the rough cracked tile of the chapel.

“Anything could hurt you now, kill you. Though I imagine you’re used to dying,” he purrs, as he observes its reactions as he moves. It doesn't twitch so much when he puts pressure here or here, but when he bears down on the small pulsing core at the center it’s practically screaming. Finally he takes pity on the poor thing and pulls away. He kneels on one knee nearby and holds out his hands. Even though it’s bleeding, several of its tentacles now visibly crushed, it slowly rolls and drags itself into his arms.

“Poor thing,” he coos, but the tone is mocking as he lifts it up and goes to sit on one of the pews. It’s like carrying wet noodles and it’s an effort to hold his Keeper. It’s hurt and tired from his earlier cruelty and droops in his arms, threatening to slip out of his grasp and back onto the floor. Wearily it raises questing tendrils up to his face, coiling against his chest and pushing up against his chin. He takes one broken tentacle and kisses it, not caring at the slime that coats his lips as he does so. It’s almost like blood, and it leaves an odd tingle against his lips when he licks it away.

“Maybe you’ll think twice before showing yourself like this,” but still he’ll at least fix what he’s done. He gathers the Keeper up as best he can, little red drops of his power flowing in and healing his creation. Slowly it tightens its hold, no longer on the brink of collapsing between his fingers. It pulls gently against him, tendrils looping around his neck and propping itself up. It finds all the sensitive places, places where the nerve damage wasn’t total and caresses him in thanks. Behind an ear, against one side of his throat, part of a shoulder and reaching around to part of a shoulder blade. It pulses and prods gently. The slickness it produces is warm and he won’t deny that although strange this feels nice. A change from the usual numbness or pain he’s used to. It moves along his arms, squeezing gently before latching tightly against his chest. He looks down and strokes along what seems to be the heart of his Keeper and is rewarded with a pleased shudder as presses back. Not in pain this time, but pleasure.

“You don’t even mind that I threatened you earlier.” It only clings tighter, though he can tell it’s being careful, producing extra discharge wherever a tentacle moved over his scars. He shouldn’t be surprised. The Keeper is his most loyal creature. It lost itself completely to him long ago, doesn’t remember anything else other than being his. He doesn’t apologize because he isn’t sorry, but he will at least acknowledge it.

“Such a good little pet. How will I reward you?” in response it merely seeks out more of those little spots that feel good, running along the skin grafts and places that make him hiss at the unfamiliar feeling. Tendrils slither around to his back and push and knead. Though he trusts the Keeper, he can’t remember the last time he was touched and his body tenses. He can tell the Keeper is annoyed as it pushes harder.

He isn’t used to this. A lifetime of isolation and neglect, he doesn’t know how to deal with the gentle touches. Ruben’s eyes burn but he can’t cry. Not anymore. The Keeper tries to comfort him, lapping at his cheek and leaving sloppy wetness in its wake.

“Stop. Pick something else,” he finally says. The truth is he can’t bring himself to relax in such a way, but he won’t admit that. Indignation flares from his creation and several tentacles rise before his face and wrap themselves together, as though the Keeper is cross with him, even as other parts of it wipe away tears that were never there. It thinks he can and that he simply isn’t trying hard enough. Or he’s trying too hard maybe. He pets the tentacles soothingly. “This isn’t even much of a reward for you.”

But it’s what it wants. Ruben looks around at the ruined church, taking in the wide open space that he’d never be fully comfortable with, even in his own world,. He’s too used to the cramped confines of labs and basements. “Perhaps a change of venue.”

With a thought they are gone, reappearing in a bedroom. It’s merely one of the ones in his mansion, but here he knows he’s safe. Obedient Haunted roam the upper levels, and it’s well trapped by devices of his own making. A shell to protect him against the world, and maybe here he can drop his guard enough to give the Keeper the reward for its service it wants.

And it wants him on his stomach, on the bed. Rubbing it fondly once more, he removes his tattered coat and does as it asks and rests his head on his arms. He focuses on merely breathing, in and out. If he can stay focused on that then he can get through this.

The Keeper is thrilled that it gets to try again. Tentacles reach out along his arms and against his cervical vertebrae. They pulse and throb, putting light pressure as they roll down along his back and lightly squeeze wherever he still can feel. Sometimes they move over his scars and he’s numb then, but for the most part the Keeper is very good at finding those little spots of pleasure, at finding knots and worrying at them until they fade. Ruben closes his eyes, slowly relaxing.

The rusty scent of blood fills the air as the Keeper doesn’t stop producing whatever it is that makes up its slick. A faint medicinal smell is underlying but neither bothers Ruben. Both are familiar, and almost comforting. With a soft smile he rolls his shoulders as though rolling out the tension. He can tell the Keeper is pleased with its efforts. For how tiny it had been, it seems to have grown, easily able to reach whatever it wants. It licks along his scars, creeping up and down his sides, his back, and reaching around to slide along the hollow of his stomach. Tentacles cling to his hips and trace ribs, kneading and stroking anywhere it can reach. It worships him as it seeks out the places that will please him most, eager to serve.

He jumps a little when one of the tendrils sneaks down the back of his pants. He opens his eyes in surprise ,”What are you doing?” the Keeper only puts a tentacle against his lips, as though to quiet him. Ruben isn’t so sure, especially when it starts rubbing along his crack and against his rim. He wiggles a little, not thinking that he would like this but the Keeper doesn’t press in at all. He gets the sense this isn’t sexual, merely part of its massage. If the Keeper was simply following along where he still had nerves, then it makes sense it would end up there. He takes a deep breath, deciding not to argue and laying his head back against his arms and closing his eyes tightly. Slowly his furrowed brow smooths as the Keeper continues its ministrations. He feels a heat build down low but it levels off when the tentacle only presses gently but never enters. Eventually it is merely another pleasant sensation to add to the others. The Keeper craves this show of intimacy, this closeness he will allow. It coils against him, pressing deep in the places it can, lightly in others. Always taking into consideration the limitations that really shouldn’t apply in STEM.

“My Keeper,” he sighs fondly as he goes limp beneath it. There is a smugness that seems to radiate from it, glee that it has got him to this point. It coils against his cheek, its own way of a wet kiss. He cracks open an eye, “don’t think this will be a regular occurrence. We won’t make a habit of this frivolity.”

There’s no real force behind it, and the Keeper is already planning for next time.


End file.
